


Tainted Heart

by Emriel



Series: Taken [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fairy Tale Style, Hurt/Comfort, Innocent Harry, M/M, Multi, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emriel/pseuds/Emriel
Summary: Harry is a prince with snow white skin, enchanting green eyes, lips as rosy red as blood, and ebon black hair. He is the fairest of them all. He lives in a castle with his step father who, under the guise of a kind and benevolent King, bewitched the court and the people. What lies beneath the King's mask was a powerful and wicked wizard, a creature who lived for hundreds of years and thirsts for a heart for immortality.And not just any heart, but a heart of one that possesses extraordinary beauty and power, the heart of his son, Harry.





	1. Snow White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exarite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/gifts), [JedaKnight27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JedaKnight27/gifts).



> I dedicate this to Essa and Jeda <3\. To Jeda because you requested the story in the first place and Essa because you said you’ll read it. I’ve changed the plot a little. I wanted it to be a one-shot but as I was writing it, I figured it would take a lot more than just a day to finish it so it's going to be a 2-5 chaptered story.
> 
> Some of the passages were quoted from the original story of Schneewittchen by the Brothers Grimm. The writing style is sort of new to me and inspired by Rapture and this random book I picked up from the library. If you find any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out because it helps since I don't have a beta.
> 
> I hope you guys like it~

Once upon a time, in the middle of winter, the snowflakes were falling ever so slowly, blanketing the land in serene white. At a castle window framed in ebony sat a young Queen with dark red hair. Whilst working at her embroidery, she would gaze in the distance. The sun began to sink in the horizon, casting gloomy shadows around the walls that guarded her Kingdom.

And then she pricked her finger and three little drops fell upon the snow. And because the color of red looked so beautiful against the white snow, she thought to herself, ‘Oh, if I only had a child as white as snow, lips as rosy red as blood, with hair as ebon black as his father’s hair!’

Soon, perhaps not even a year after, her hand came to rest on her rotund belly. Growing somewhere inside her body was hope, one whose laughter Lily Potter longed to hear, to fill the emptiness of her chamber whilst her other half was busy fighting monsters, taming dragons and seeking life’s greatest adventure.

She whispered stories to the growing baby, “Your father is a hero who is beloved by our people. He built this castle and made me his Queen. He is away now, but he sends me tales of golden sand, high waters, and earthen dwellers. When you are old enough, I’ll read them to you… Your father will come home someday, and while waiting for him, you and I will protect this home. If you’re born a girl, I will dress you with the most lavish dresses, and curl your hair just like mine. If you’re boy, I hope you’ll grow up like James but never stray from my side.”

And when the child was born, to Lily’s delight, it was a baby boy—a darling prince that could have been mistaken for a girl with his delicate lashes, bright green eyes, lips rosy red, and skin so fine and fair.

But when the child was born, James Potter died from an arrow to his chest, and within a year, the Queen was forced to marry another. A man who goes by the name Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The new King was of unknown descent, but he was many things to all who were lucky enough to know him. A scholar, a poet, a strategist, a beauty, and a charmer who caused maidens to put up their skirts, and slather rouge on their cheeks. The Kingdom who suffered from a sickly Queen was brought back to its feet by a King so cunning, who with quiet confidence put a stop at vultures from picking apart the scraggly remains of a broken home, and tempered it to become an envy whose tales began to reach faraway lands.

 

* * *

 

The Queen was happy for she found a friend instead of a man who sought to fill her with seed to birth their kin. Tom was a quiet friend who listened to her woes and made her feel young again, like a child.

The scent of lilies permeated her room, and she smiled when she remembered how James would give her the very same flowers, even sneaking into her room in the neighboring Kingdom half past midnight, asking her again and again, unwaveringly for her hand in marriage. Oh, if only she knew what rabbit hole she was falling for.

Now, only a friend sought to keep her happy, filling her room with the cloying scent of lilies so she could not smell the rot that had begun to fester around her. Dead fish left too long to lie.

Every night, Tom was her phantom, listening to her quiet sigh. He was unbothered by the ugly, and looked upon her like she was still human when not even her own child could muster a smile.

Tom was her only companion.

And just like any night, he would hand her a cup of gold overflowing with poison, not that she knew, and not that she cared. The Queen knew she was dying, like a slowly wilting flower who missed the warmth of the sun. Her eyes were no longer green but gray from blindness, hair white instead of scarlet. Muscles limp from disuse, and lips so chapped, it was bleeding, and yet she would utter his name, “James…”

“James…?”

Tom took her hand, kissing her knuckles and spoke, “James will see you in your dreams, precious. He is there waiting for you, so sleep, Lily…”

Often times, Lily would follow his advice and she would be out like feather, but tonight, her eyes were fixed upon the blurry shadow of Tom’s form. She raised a hand, stroking the hand of her friend and bid him, “I do not have long… Take care of Harry, my darling child. Promise me that no harm will come to him. Promise me…”

But the Queen heard no reply, and only felt empty space as a hand left hers. “Tom?” There was a croak in that voice. “Tom?... Where did you go? Will you please promise me…?” Her voice grew weaker, like the sound of cloth shuffling. Muted. It choked when the breeze blew in. The window was open and the King looked out, holding his hand for the snowflakes, admiring its snow white beauty.

Behind him came the sound of dying creature, unable to take the slightest cold as coughs wracked her body. It was a delicate symphony that only ended in silence.

The King smiled and closed the window. With a wave of his hand, all lights have gone out.

“Goodnight, Lily.”

 

* * *

 

The King’s only wish in life was to seek power and eternal life. He had a mirror, a magical one and when he looked upon it, he would say, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most powerful one of all?”

And the mirror would reply, “Oh King, you are the most powerful in the land.”

With this the King was well content for he knew the mirror can only speak of the truth. “And what of the boy that you say would one day be my equal?”

From the mirror, a figure was slowly revealed, the alluring sight of the child who was blessed by the gods to have unmatched beauty. The sun threw in rays of light, casting a glow upon the young boy’s face. He sat upon a bed of flowers with birds singing in gaiety around him. All manner of forest folk came like stags, bunnies, wolves, and butterflies, and upon his head was a crown of flowers. This innocent child who knew nothing of the horrors that surrounded their Kingdom, whose mother’s love protected him from the worst the world has to offer. This was his equal.

“Harry Riddle is still a budding flower. If the King can wait for a few years’ time, the boy’s heart will be ripe for the picking.”

“I have already waited for nine years.”

The mirror shimmered and began to show a small girl, with golden hair and eyes moist with tears. She spoke to him, “I urge you not to consume his heart for he is but an innocent child who needs you as his father, my King. You have always consumed the worst of hearts… Why desire something so pure? It is unwise to kill him, for you do not know of his power—”

“Then I will corrupt his heart, if that is what you require.”

“You misunderstand, my King! Please listen—”

Lord Voldemort turned his back, and once again the mirror was covered with a dark curtain. With nary a thought, he was upon his black Stallion, the Walpurgis Knights at his heels. Together, the sound of their hooves echoed upon dry soil as they kicked dust with their haste.

Tom took his crop, whipping his horse to go faster, not stopping to greet his people who bowed before him. The massive castle gates were lowered.

They rode for the Black Forest, a looming shroud of dark green into the distance. The King thought he should have it burned, so no more would his child be tempted by its foul creatures and be lured away from the safety of his castle.

 

* * *

 

Winter was over, and the land was no longer downcast with long nights and starch whiteness. No longer did he need to wear thick coats. His boots would not trudge against muddied slush. The coming of spring brought blossoming flowers, green grass, blue skies, and life as the animals come out to play.

Harry’s body splayed upon the flowers much like a starfish and around him were creatures, who only wished to keep him company. Beneath the canopy of forest trees, the shadows crept like it was alive. But every so often, the light and the warmth of the sun seeped through, just like in this alcove he found where a wide gap in the middle welcomed the skies.

The scent of pine and flowers comforted him. His mother would bring him into the forest as a child to read him tales of James Potter’s adventures. And perhaps it was because of those stories that when he was five, many a time, he wandered in the woods, in search of a stag with golden antlers, just as his mother described James.

But he saw none of that, and for some time he wondered if those stories were real, or if they were embellished by his mother’s desire to see a ghost.

And now, even his mother was gone. He would never again smell the sweet scent of cinnamon and butter for breakfast, or be gifted the occasional flawed cake on his birthday. He would not feel warm hands shake him awake for lessons, or wake up to see all his toys were rearranged and put away in their place. The servants never got it right. And as he thought of all that he shared with her, he whimpered. Remembering her felt like his hands were sifting through crumbling piles of leaves, just like the ones around him, because from the moment her health declined, his mother changed.

And Harry, even though he was too young to understand it, knew something was wrong. For the last time he saw her, she looked at him with silent accusation and kept the door to her room locked for the past year. He hoped one day she would let him in but no matter how many times he knocked on the white door, there was no answer.

Only his step-father was allowed in. Even during the funeral, the King covered his eyes, telling him “not to look” and try as he might, he could not pry away those fingers, let alone see where they took her. The bells kept ringing, for the people mourned the loss of their Queen. It rang like a wailing baby, drowning out the screams that came from his own throat.

Harry asked around at night, talking to the servants who pointed to the north of the castle, there sits a barren hill. When his step-father was busy inside his chambers, staring at a mirror while being fitted another set of mourning robes, he snuck out and found his mother’s coffin laid to rest, alone on top of a hill, higher than the rooftops of their castle, overlooking the lake.

It was during twilight, and against the light of the moon, he saw the rotting corpse. Harry was aghast and thought ‘That is not my mother.’

So he ran away despite only wearing his white nightclothes, because anything was better than the sight of dead stranger’s body, or the cold castle walls. He soon found himself in the forest which sang to him a hundred lullabies in different tongues.

In the dark of the Black Forest, he was guided by fireflies, until he found his precious alcove where a wolf offered its pelt as a pillow, where birds made a nest of flowers upon his head, and where silence was still filled with sounds of wildlife and the rustling of leaves, not the empty ringing in his room.

A fist closed around the leaves, and Harry tried to smile. Beside him, a bunny pressed closer to his neck, and Harry’s small hands began petting it.

His lashes lowered as he slept. He could hear them pleading.

“Stay in the forest for you are safe here.”

 

* * *

 

And yet, when the cold night air began seep through his clothes, Harry stirred from the sound of horses trotting. Metal clinking against metal. The sound of a violent stab against wood, angry voices and the pained cries of animals were all around him.

The prince woke to a nightmare of his friends being slaughtered by the Walpurgis Knights. He then saw the King’s slowly approaching form. Black leather boots stopped inches before the red grass. This monster against the night sky came closer and closer, towering above him and Harry remained frozen as he looked up to eerie red eyes and his step-father’s disappointed face. Try as he might, he could not move and lay like a ragdoll waiting for the first blow.

The King knelt next to him and asked, “Harry, do you know what you’ve done? My poor precious child…”

“I… I had to… I couldn’t stay… not when mother is...”

And Harry heard the yowl of the wolf whose paw was stabbed with an arrow. Horrified green eyes looked around with unshed tears. He then found his voice, pleading mercy as tears began, “Please, don’t hurt them. They’re harmless. It’s my fault for running away. Stop it… please. Father…”

The King brushed away his tears, before signaling to his knights with raised a hand, and those with bows stopped shooting. The animals ran away, and the wolf left Harry one forlorn glance before limping into the darkness. Some who tried to fight were quickly slaughtered, leaving a wake of muddy red.

Harry closed his eyes, unable to stomach the gore. As a prince, he never condoned violence. There was no point to killing off the animals but he knew he brought it upon himself and upon them.

“You’re cold aren’t you?” Came the silky baritone voice.

Harry nodded quietly and the King unfastened his black cloak and wrapped it around his shivering child. Carefully, the King carried Harry in his arms and settled him upon his stallion. As Harry felt the cold leather upon his thighs, his breath started quickening, and a hand furiously wiped the tears.

The black cloak did nothing to stop his trembling fingers.

He sat there, trying to swallow bile as cold sweat gathered at his palms. He waited for his father to mount behind him, and he steadied his hands on the horse’s mane, but his mind’s eye was already imagining how many lashes it would take to satisfy the King’s anger and how long he’d have to kneel before this was forgiven.

The king’s warmth was alien, especially when arms settled upon Harry’s shoulders. And soon, Harry realized, it was a hug. A short one. It was the first time he’d been hugged by his step-father.

When a hand settled upon his smaller one, there was quiet threat, whispered upon his ear. “The next time you run away, I will burn everything in search of you. I’ve already lost your mother. I cannot lose you too.”

Harry sniffled and bowed his head down, “I’m sorry. I’m really… sorry, father. Please… forgive me. It will never happen again.”

The King leaned back but not before settling his hand upon Harry’s head, petting him like he would pet a cat, “See to it that it doesn’t.”

Behind them, one knight shot a flaming arrow to the foliage. The forest floor, as if aided by horrifying magic, burned green and cinders flew in the air. The fire flitted through horrified green eyes, but not a word escaped Harry's throat for fear that the King might do something much worse.

The King turned around his horse and with a satisfied smile plastered on his face, his cold voice called to his knights, “To the castle.”

 

* * *

 

The years flowed on, and all this time Harry was growing up–and growing more beautiful each year besides. Many have asked for his hand in marriage. Women, men and creature alike but the King always replied, “I will consider it.” But he never did.

When Harry was twelve years old, the boy was as fair as the day, and his admirers grew in number. Even his followers spoke of the boy with much love. They likened the prince to an angel that could do no harm.

Alarmed, the King stood in front of his mirror and said, “Mirror, mirror, who is the most powerful one of them all?”

And this time, the mirror answered,

“My King, your power is wicked and rare, but your son, prince Harry, who is beloved by all, is a thousand times more powerful than you can ever be.”

At this, the King hissed in frustration. The King did not believe in love, but knew of its powers. It caused empires to fall to ruin and it caused miracles to happen even at the darkest hour.

“The power of love?” He smashed a fist against the mirror, and watched it crack and repair itself.

Whenever he saw the boy, his heart grew green with envy and lust. That was how much he coveted the boy’s power, and it was said that if he consumed his heart, the power would be his. These feelings grew in the King’s heart until he had no peace day and night.

The King only had eyes for this fair child. The mirror told him the boy would continue to flourish, and if he was patient, the more gratifying it could be to consume him. He waited, and he kept the pretense of a caring father, caring for the boy like a beloved rose. Watering it, until the petals were bright red, so he could pluck it, and preserve it and make it part of his collection.

 

* * *

 

Underneath the castle was a secret. Not even his Knights knew of these hallowed chambers, and those that did never again saw the light of day. He descended from a long winding staircase. On the bottom sat a door which only opened to those who knew the language of the snakes.

Statues of serpents stared at him from either side, likely the work of his forefathers. The snakes he kept as pets hissed at him in greeting, and their caretaker, a useless rat of a man cowering behind one of the snake statues, greeted him too with his voice quaking in fear, “W-welcome home, master.”

At some point, the brick walls transitioned into the uneven rock of the adjoining cave.

Within these chambers sat his potion lab. Upon one of its shelves was a dusty old book.

The King swiped a finger across brown speckled dust and it revealed its rusty bronze cover. Tom Marvolo Riddle blew it away and used his magic to clean his hands. _Moste Potente Potions_. He lay it upon the wooden table and caressed the tattered pages with a fond look. He recalled a time when there was a store that sold these books, but that was long gone.

On the sixtieth page was an age old favorite, one that caused his birth upon this sordid world. The potion that maimed his emotions to a point where he was filled with only rage and emptiness.

With a snap of his fingers, the lanterns lit up, and a cauldron was soon filled with rose water as it sat upon a flickering flame.

He called forth the ratty old box from a glass drawer beside his library of books, and it landed beside his table. From within, he scooped two ashwinder eggs, cracking it open and letting the contents mix. He then began the process of grinding the moonstone to fine dust.

As he worked on the potion and it took in a golden glow, he was unsurprised to smell the sweet scent of the boy’s own sweat for he knew at this point, he desired no other.

Obsession was familiar to him, but to a child who has never ever been kissed before, it would be a tempest. On the boy’s thirteenth birthday, he planned to give this as the first of the many gifts, to see how much he can turn the boy’s pure white heart into black until it was time to consume it.


	2. A Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How dark must a soul become until it can be consumed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel very sad while writing this story. But it's something a part of me once enjoyed a lot. My writing style is still at a point where I'm not sure where it's headed however I at least know where this story is headed. The tone is dark, and I tried to stay true to my original plan but some things have to change I guess T_T.

**Faint.**

It was the sound of the heartbeat that could never be heard across a mile away. But he could hear it, that mellow sad sorrow of someone so broken that all he could do is smile and sing with his friends.

The poison was excruciatingly sweet, that it took much of a night to even ensure the proper brew. What took a hundred years to prepare took a mere fortnight for him, and so he languished at the throne, watching and waiting.

He could see it in his mind’s eye, the boy would become a thorn at his side, such that he would have to ensure the thorns are carefully plucked away. Poison his heart to the point that he could not breathe with his own skin, and start begging for death.

And then what?

* * *

Lord Voldemort, his other name from another time, a sorcerer, a warlock, and now a King with a crown so embellished with gold, and gemstone, and metal, and cloth that it was impossible to almost wear it unless one practiced with daily grace. And yet, he had the help of magic, and his poor hapless son did not.

So as the king, he worked in the shadows. Many hearts, many souls, and an invitation for the cold. “Come here my friends, the time has come for a feast.”

* * *

Death and carnage was a welcome sight, and inside the castle was that pretty little flower he had yet to devour. Instead the other lands were a sacrifice, and upon each castle and each throne he bewitched, there was his flag, and it was vibrant green.

A question he would always ask, “Would you join me if I were spare myself from killing you, all your kin, and all your friends, and all that you have ever worked for, torn into ashes, and to dust scattered across the earth?”

His Knights were thirsty for the hunt, and had amongst them the brightest and the savage. Each one would slit a throat, shoot a bow, and they bow to no one but him. He called them his subjects. A necessary sacrifice.

To expand the empire across the land.

* * *

 **Temptation**.

Was sweet like honey. And across the valley hung a bow, and on a rock by the pond, silver, and silk. Inside the pond was the prince, swimming with the fishes and enjoying the silence of peace.

_“Do you remember dear?_

_The forest said it will keep you safe, and yet you run to your castle?”_

And Harry thought of his gilded cage but it was a fine one. After weeks of trying to appeal to his father’s affection, there came a point where he knew he was never going to be loved.

So he sought comfort in what others would call isolation. And yet around him, there were servants watching his every move. There were eyes watching for his father could not lose him. And he remembered how many of the animals died when he disobeyed.

“My prince, we must return at once. Your father, if he hears of this…”

“I know, Delilah, where is my towel?” And as he looked up at her, Harry noticed she would not even meet him in the eye.

He always took a bath with the hand maidens and yet why was it that they were blushing?

“…I-is there anything else, my prince?”

“I’ve told you many times to please call me by my name.”

“But I cannot, my prince. You must understand, there are rules! I will be whipped by the cane!”

Harry looked at the blushing woman and sighed. “Rules… then call me by another name.”

“Then what would that name by, my prince?”

Harry suddenly recalled the tales of his father, and how he always tried searching for the Golden Stag.

So he began to robe himself.

And then the birds fluttered in the sky, hundred white winged doves. The sound of a horn and marching footsteps.

“ _He’s back._ ”

And to his friend he said, “You will be Grain to me, and I will be Salt.”

“What an awful name!” Delilah muttered and realized that she had spoken out loud. Her curls bobbing about in the bright early morning sun and with steadfast eyes she looked at her charge who was biting his lips in an attempt to smother his laughter.

“Fine, then give me a better one.”

“What about Rih - Hah? And I will make my own name.”

“What name would be befitting of her name?” Harry asked and whilst giving a sharp eye to the rest of his father’s guards to stay away. He knew that he was not allowed to make friends with commoners, much less a servant like her, but he did not care to be punished.

It was rare that he could even find himself to smile after his mother passed away so he was going to enjoy this. Her smile.

“Her... mine name?”

“Err… Mine. That is apt, I believe. To err is human, and this name is mine, so it will be Ermine.” Ermine laughed, and her brown eyes caught his which crinkled...

* * *

And then **Punishment**.

“Were my instructions not clear that you are not to associate yourself with the likes of the impure?”

There was a cold hand upon his chin, dragging it around until he gnashed his own jaw and resisted the urge to spit out bloody saliva and stain his father’s face.

“You are a disgrace to the throne!”

And enough was enough.

“Why do I care? She is a human just like I am, and since you’ve left for war, there is no one home, I’m alone with no one to talk to. She’s my only friend!”

“Then you are a fool to think that disobeying me will curry my favor.”

Riddle’s eyes flashed red as a trick of the fire lashed on his face. “Bring me the wench.”

And Harry pushed back, with eyes full of rage.

“You dare!?”

“I do, that is because you’re a monster! I only wanted a friend! Why must she suffer for something I chose to do?”

And Riddle sighed, the cold having returned.

“Then let this be a lesson you’ll have to learn. What is it that you love about your friend? Is it her face, is it her eyes, is it her mouth, is it her body, is it her hair, or her voice?”

Harry blinked at the question and knew that he provoked his father far too much. He knew what his father was capable of.

“I… please, father. I’m… sorry.”

Silence. It was ringing in his ears.

At the crackle of the torch, the King stood from his throne to tower upon his errant son.

The lord smiled thinly, and the doors to the throne room opened and in came the servant. “My king, you called for me.”

A young one, barely older than Harry, the king thought. To sully a rose that he was carefully tending and he knew Luna would scream in anguish at this, but to the King, it was no matter, for in his eyes it was unforgivable.

“Burn her face.”

“What? No… Father, please. Please don’t do this. You must understand it is all my fault. This isn’t…”

And the King raised his hand.

“I have come back from war, and this is what I come home to. My only wish for you was to stay safe and to obey _my_ rules. You broke it, and now you will pay the price.”

Harry felt tears come then, “Please… father, I will do anything. Please don’t do something so cruel. She is a loyal servant. The brightest of them all… I…”

“Anything, you say. Then, carve of an inch of her skin and then bring it to me.”

The King unsheathed his sword, and at the hilt was a serpent.

“Take this and use it.”

And Harry could only stare. 

The metal and gold glinted.

Delilah blinked sadly knowing she could not say a word. One could not fall for a prince after all. It was forbidden.

And as Harry looked upon the sword, his hands trembled and he began laughing despite the tears.

“Why do you hesitate, my child? If you do not move, I will kill her.”

And Harry could not breathe then, and it was as if a sword pierced his own heart and everything went blurry.

“I can’t… I– can’t.”

And at this moment, the King sighed. “Your heart, is fragile."

To all the guards and even the animal that was starting to cry in quiet resignation, Riddle gritted his teeth and said. "Leave us."

They bowed and left.

And yet the boy was about to collapse clutching at his chest.

And then, the King thought of the poison and uncorked the vial, to pour it upon the glass of bourbon. “Drink.”

Harry looked at the offered chalice, as the world was spinning and he could not fathom a single thought.

“Father?”

“Drink.”

And so he drank.

* * *

 

Harry cried that night in the arms of his step father who soothed him to sleep.

“One day, if it were to come to it, you may have to slay your own friends. If you cannot harm a fly, you will never be fit to be a king. Your pure heart, I will taint it, and then I will consume it. I pity you, child. They should have never let me in, and now… your heart is mine.”

* * *

Harry could not understand why upon waking up in the arms of the King he felt so rested. His heart was beating with thunderous sounds. A dying breath upon a living one.

And all the while, he noticed for the first time the arc of his father’s cheek bones, the mesmerizing eyes, the red, and the purple of his irises that turned cold blue upon the frigid snow.

He saw him for all his entirety, and yet he could not understand why.

The next few weeks were but a dream of following his father’s words. Just a lamb merrily following the shepherd. Until one day, a stormy night, his father entered his room donning a mask. The night before his thirteenth birthday.

“There are secrets in the castle, that we do not speak of, and I believe this is a gift that I must show you now.”

It was midnight, and his father handed him a white mask. “Take my hand, and never let go. I will show you what happens to children who are less fortunate.”

And the king took the boy down to the depths of the castle and into a masquerade ball.

The scent was exotic, filled with fumes and aphrodisiacs. To a young boy who was dosed with the strongest of them all, it was but another haze. And he could feel the clammy hands tighten around his. The King went to a corner with a veil, and showed the frightened child a picture.

“See there, many would die for a taste of flesh. Succulent for they are so young and pure, that many of our men, and those far and wide would hunger for the taste.”

And Harry could not understand, “What are they doing?”

“Fulfilling their desires…”

“But… some of them are screaming?”

And in the darkness, Harry saw blood. The candles. And it was hazy. And it was pure black.

“Why?”

And the King smiled and touched Harry. “You ask too many questions, little one. Let me show you.”

It was just a haze of almost nothingness, and the young body succumbed and collapsed under the smell, the scent of the heavy air. The young prince’s mind too young to understand the atrocity of the room, and the King’s smile very languid.

He could feed off the fear of the young child who was trembling beside him and yet he knew he must be patient. That he must not touch. That he must not sully him until it was time.

**_Please reconsider, my King. You know you must wait._ **

And the King bit his lips until it bled. _“See this, child. And remember that you are nothing without me._ ” All it took was a languid touch for the boy to shiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have a writer's block and I'm just trying to write despite that. I know that a lot of you have been waiting for this and I'm trying to follow my own advice that it's best to just get started when you want to achieve something and to me that's finishing this story one step at a time. In any case, I'll accept constructive criticism if you have any. Although at this point, I really am writing this mostly for myself, and for Jeda and Essa and all the nice strangers/friends who left me kudos and comments. Thank You!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think~ This intro chapter is relatively tame, I know. The next chapters will probably be as dark as they can get. I’m excited to write it wee.


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